


Doors Of Time

by rolloverbeethoven



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst, Car Accidents, Caretaking, Death, Guilt, Hospitals, Other, Sad, Sad John Deacon, Sad Roger Taylor (Queen), Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Wakes & Funerals, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-28 08:14:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20775380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rolloverbeethoven/pseuds/rolloverbeethoven
Summary: There may or may not be character death in this, kind of ruins it if I say, I'll just put a warning instead?If you are triggered by sudden death or car accidents or self harm, don't readIf you like cliffhangers or sudden death, you might like thisPlease give me feedback! I love hearing from readers!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! If you like it or if you don't please let me know!!
> 
> Love you all :))

1975

The farm was one of the best things the boys ever did. Getting into the country, recording albums, playing tennis. Everything was chill, and the way it was supposed to be. It was time to head back to the world now, though, to finally attend another party, to ramp the speed of life back up. 

After they had packed everything, the band had decided that they'd all drive back together in one car, just the four of them. Roger had decided to drive, he thought he was the best at it. Freddie sat in the front with Roger so he could have his space. John and Brian sat in the back, like always. 

It had been getting dark as they left. The band had had an extremely short night and a very long day, they'd had a party the previous night to celebrate their album, waking up at 6 from the rooster, having breakfast, packing up the studio, packing up their rooms, having lunch, packing the car, lounging around the living room for no reason whatsoever. They'd gotten into the car and started their journey.

Each of them were on about four hours of sleep, and drifting off in the car. Roger wished he didn't volunteer to drive, his eyelids feeling like lead. He'd had probably the worst sleep out of them, and could feel himself slipping further away each minute.

He did all he could to keep himself awake, opening the windows, playing the radio. However, it still didn't work. Every few minutes of so, Roger could feel the car veer slightly out of the lanes as he loosened his control over the vehicle.

It had been twenty minutes into their hour and a half trip back to London, and Roger was so close to pulling over and sleeping, driving back the next day, but he couldn't do that, he'd be absolutely fine. In the back of his head, though, a voice told him he wouldn't. He should have listened.

Roger thanked his luck that the roads were relatively clear; he had only come across two other cars and a fair amount of trucks.

A further ten minutes into the drive, Roger literally couldn't stay awake. The feel of the road underneath him lulled him into a sleep, the car on cruise control still travelling down the straight road.

John woke up, and saw a truck come around the corner. It narrowly missed the car, honking. "Jesus Christ Roger! We were nearly killed!" He received no response, the car still veering off of the slightly curved road. He looked around the car, realising he was the only one awake.

He shook Roger awake, screaming at him to steer the car. Brian woke up, wondering what all the fuss was about. Roger just sat there as a van headed towards them again, still trying to get his bearings. John reached over the backseat and turned the wheel violently, hoping it would be enough to swerve around the speeding incoming truck.

For a second, the twist was enough, the front of the car that was running head on into the truck changed direction and was missed. However, the pull was so violent that it nearly turned the car sideways. It was the loudest sound John had ever heard, and pieces of everything when flying in slow motion. The van had hit the other side of the car, and it had caught the middle of it.


	2. Chapter 2

1975

Freddie sat there. Everything was quiet and tranquil. Then he smelt a heavy chemical smell emanating from the car, reminding him where he was. He'd woken up seconds before the crash, wondering what John's incessant screaming was about. Everything was a blur, he heard John screaming, the car jolted to the side and he saw bright lights collide in with them, and now he was here.

He looked around the vehicle. Roger and John were gone, their car doors opened. Freddie's eyes widened, they must've been thrown from the car. He clambered out of the car, and saw Brian sitting, wide-eyed in the backseat, probably still trying to find what happened. "Brian? Are you okay?" Freddie waited a few seconds before receiving a nod. Brian shakily left the car, "Where are John and Roger?" He asked. Freddie told him they'd been thrown from the car, and they found them in the thick roadside grass. John was lying unconscious. Freddie crouched down and shook him, while Brian walked to find Roger. "John? John? Are you okay?" John opened his eyes, looking very confused. _He must have a concussion _Freddie noted, and helped him up to the car. "Sit here, I'll be back." John nodded.

Freddie left to go find Brian and Roger. He was still in shock, and was less worried about his friends and just more determined to get out of the situation with everybody okay. He saw Brian find Roger, wincing as he crouched down with him. "He's bleeding, and he might have a broken leg." Roger was awake, but barely. Freddie's heart sank, that was pretty bad, a broken leg could be painful. Freddie found that when they had to carry Roger, his arm hurt like nothing he'd ever felt before. Brian noticed Freddie struggling, and tried to lift more of Roger, himself visibly struggling.

They finally got him in the car, Brian's face pale and eyes teary from the pain. "Bri, sit down, I'll help you." Freddie said, worriedly. His friend was in pain, he should help him. "No, thanks Fred, I'll go see if I can catch a car or something to call an ambulance." Brian staggered off, Freddie was mildly worried about him, but he was probably only still in shock from what had happened.

It was when Brian didn't come back for an hour that Freddie started to worry. He probably couldn't find a telephone, but plenty of cars had driven through, cars he could have asked to drive somewhere and called the emergency number. Freddie got up, John, who seemed to be recovering, asked where he was going. "Brian hasn't come back, I'm going to look for him." Roger and John nodded, staying there.

Freddie walked up the strip, same place Brian would have been. He couldn't see someone standing up anywhere, and was worried Brian had ventured too far. Brian wouldn't do that, though, he wouldn't desert his friends. Freddie had been looking for around fifteen minutes when he spotted an odd shape in the long grass. He walked over, and saw Brian's curly mane dampened by the dew of the grass. Freddie gasped, he was unconscious. He crouched down, Brian was barely breathing. It really sounded like he was struggling. Even more alarmingly, Brian's lips and the tip of his nose were blue.

Freddie sprinted back over to his friends. He was reluctant to leave Brian, worried he wouldn't be breathing when he came back, but he had to tell Roger and John, see if there was something in the car to help him. A car rode past as Freddie was running back to Brian. Freddie called out to it, and asked the occupants if they could get an ambulance.

The ambulance came in thirty minutes, taking away Brian with John riding with him, and sending another for Roger and Freddie to get back in. 

Arriving at the hospital, Brian was taken away immediately to emergency while Freddie, John and Roger sat, waiting for doctors to come and see them. Freddie had a small fracture in his arm from the impact of the collision, John had a mild concussion and Roger had a few more serious injuries, his leg broken and pretty bad cuts from shrapnel. They would all be okay though, they just had to pray for Brian.

They sat for hours, waiting for news about Brian. The shock was starting to wear off, worry and guilt were starting to come back in. Roger kept saying how it was all his fault, John kept saying how worried he was for Brian, Freddie being left to comfort them all. He couldn't take it any longer.

The doctors came to see them, telling them to sit down. _It couldn't be good news_ Freddie worried. The doctor said that Brian had a broken rib, and his lung had been impaled. He had been without sufficient oxygen for a long time, had flatlined once in the ambulance, and his brain was beginning to shut down. He might have to be put on life support soon.

The remaining band members began to grieve. Brian was injured, badly, Roger thought he'd caused it, John thought he'd made it worse by steering the car, Freddie thought he'd killed Brian, letting him walk away like that with an impaled lung.

Freddie had never felt this bad before, and prayed to everyone he knew that Brian would be okay.


	3. Chapter 3

1975

Brian had been on life support for a few days. They had tried to operate on him, but he was never stable enough. The doctors had told them that if he didn't become stable within the next few days, there would be nothing they could do, they'd just have to sit there and wait.

One day, it seemed quite promising. His brain activity increased, and he became more responsive to the drugs that were adhered to help his lung. 

Then, as soon as it came, it was gone. He had returned to his damaged state. His brain activity levels were quite low, and the doctors told them that even if he did wake up, it would be unlikely he'd regain full use of his body, and would have significant brain damage.

Freddie looked around at his friend's faces. Roger was crying and John was pale. He knew they felt guilty, but really, it was all his fault. He shouldn't have kept them up that late the last night at the farm, he should have checked Roger was okay to drive and most of all, he should have checked Brian was okay. All the signs were there, but Freddie listened to Brian tell him he was okay, never once checking.

Roger thought it was all his fault. He should have been awake. His best friends trusted him to be awake. And now, they might never speak again. He would understand if they never spoke to Roger again if Brian died, it was his fault they would have lost him. Every day since the accident, Roger sat beside Brian, crying and praying he'll return.

John believed it was his fault. He should have turned the van the other side. He only tried to steer the vehicle out of the way, but he should have known there wasn't going to be time. He should have turned it so the van hit him, but he didn't, he turned it onto Brian's side. he hadn't meant to, but now he'd be paying for it with eternal sadness and guilt if Brian died, to kill something they all dearly loved.

Days went past, and with each hour Brian's chances of full recovery were becoming slimmer. After the first week, they had fully diminished, and the band was just praying for Brian's survival, which was also becoming less likely as the minutes passed.

John made the call to Brian's parents hours after the accident, but they hadn't known the extent of the injuries then, and Brian's parents still hadn't come to see him, they said they were on holiday. He called them again, said it was really serious, but they still didn't come.

The band spent all of their time around Brian, burning his image into their brains. They told themselves constantly to not lose hope, but hope was hard to come by in a situation like this. It just all seemed so hopeless. There was nothing they could do. They missed their chances to avoid this, and now they were punished. 

Brian's face was growing paler and thinner as the days went on. It was not the Brian they knew, not the half-smile, chuckling, I-always-win-at-scrabble poodle they'd always love but a ghost of that man, as if he was already dead.

Everyday, John was sat in one of the chairs by the bed, reading a book or the newspaper. Roger was normally writing songs on the bench on the other side of Brian's bed and Freddie was often lying across the 'couch', listening to the radio, lounging. Everything started to feel like a pattern, and although the pain was still as strong as ever, they knew that Brian could still feel, and were hoping that he could feel their love.

It had been three weeks since the accident, and the doctors came in, giving them quite serious news. Freddie sat up immediately, and John and Roger shot up to their feet. The doctor told them that if Brian didn't wake up within the next week, or at least stabilise, they'd have to take him off of life support.

There was a very real chance that Brian would never open his eyes again, and they would never hear his voice again. 


	4. Chapter 4

1975

It was 4pm on a Wednesday, and the band were crouched around Brian, crying. The doctors warned them he would be out soon, his heart and brain rapidly deteriorating. They had to be there, for Brian. Hope had been lost a very long time ago, now all they hoped for was as painless a death as possible for Brian.

It was 4pm on a Wednesday when Brian May was pronounced dead, aged 28. His parents were called by the doctors, his friends beside themselves with sadness. Weeks of watching him unconscious, days of guilt and hours of prayers, and the result was utterly heartbreaking.

John sat there, tears rolling down his pale and shocked face. Freddie looked sick, he couldn't believe his best friend was gone. Roger left the room, ran to the bathroom, punched the mirror. The boys were not okay, and they didn't think they'd ever be.

It took a week, a week to tell everybody and have them gathered in London for Brian's funeral. The band had asked for closed casket, they couldn't bear to see his pale and drained face again, instead wishing to remember him as the fun and smart man he was, but Brian's parents insisted on an open casket funeral, wanting to say goodbye to their son. Roger had gotten angry, they had been home for days before Brian passed away, if they really cared about him, they would have come seen him. They also didn't think it was fair that they didn't have full control over Brian's funeral, their best friend who they stuck with through the entire ordeal, knowing he would have wanted a closed casket, but they knew Brian also wouldn't have wanted them to clash with his parents.

The funeral was possibly the hardest thing the band ever had to go through, watching their beloved guitarist being lowered into the ground, wearing a black suit, matching his black mane, which sat like a halo of death upon his pale and bony face. He was holding his first guitar and was surrounded by letters from each of the bandmates. None of them had ever cried that much in their lives.

It had all been so unnatural, death at 28. He was up and speaking after the crash, walking and moving. But it wasn't long until he wasn't. The guilt each of them felt was nothing they had ever experienced before. Roger curled up in his bed, heavy sobs until he fell asleep, knowing this was all his fault. For the past few weeks, Roger had been so heavily weighed down by his guilt that wished he could die, it should have been him. After the death, Roger had been so deep in shock that it was more sadness than guilt, but now he was truly gone, sent underground, all because of Roger. John couldn't sleep, silent tears rolled down his face. He felt even more guilty when he wasn't crying. It was his fault, he'd moved the car, it hit straight into Brian. Freddie just sat silently, replaying everything he could have done, he should have seen Brian limping, wincing at every movement. He shouldn't have dismissed it, he should have known that Brian was going to put Freddie's peace of mind before his own health. Freddie felt anger, anger at himself for not watching Brian, anger at Brian for not telling him. He sat, writing letters and poems about Brian.

They all knew they couldn't continue the band. Every time they played, it reminded them of the absence of Brian. Roger couldn't help feel fully responsible for the band falling out of music, and the death of his best friend.

The horror weeks that the band had endured turned into even worse months. They lived in the same apartment, Roger now had an empty bedroom, the house crammed with photos of the band, pics of them at Ridge Farm, a high school photo of Brian that they'd found in a book.

Roger didn't know what was worse, if they fully cleared out all of Brian's things, leaving him sleeping next to a clear bedroom, as if Brian had been discarded, thrown, or if they left his stuff there, leaving his spirit to linger through the room, reminding Roger exactly what he lost.

Nobody could handle it anymore, it was only a matter of time before everything broke


	5. Chapter 5

1975

Nobody could handle it anymore. Nobody had the strength to carry on. Things had changed since Brian's death, they'd still gone to parties, had wild nights out, but they rarely had contact with other people outside of the band, all of them turning to drink, some of them turning to drugs, to dull out their strong feelings of hatred, guilt and sadness.

Each of the boys took it horribly, Freddie always had too much drink, too many drugs at parties too early, was always drunk, high or both. He was going off the rails, and there was nothing the others could do. John had gotten too quiet, not speaking to anybody, drinking and sleeping too much, cutting contact. Roger took Brian's death the hardest, doing mixture of both, hiding and not speaking but also getting absolutely trashed to forget what happened.

It had been a month and a half since Brian's funeral, and Roger seriously could not handle it. Everyday, no matter where he was, there were reminders of the life he'd lost, the happiness and innocence completely leaving him. He looked at the photos of Ridge farm, seeing all of their happiness, it had been cut short and it was all Rogers' fault. Roger had to take the photos of Brian down, looking at them often causing his panic attacks, knowing that he killed Brian, what a bright life he had in from of him, all cut short by Roger. Things that would never be.

Roger constantly looked for a remedy. He had considered suicide one time, but he decided that he didn't want Freddie and John to feel any more pain. Although he'd only truly killed Brian, he'd also killed Freddie and John in a sense, killing their souls. Roger was now only left with their shells, constantly drunken and depressed. He couldn't commit suicide.

He'd decided on what he would do when he wrestled a razor out of a plastic shaving razor. He would cut himself. He took the razor, dug it into his upper arm. He felt the pain, but didn't panic, this is exactly what he deserved. He was careful to clean the blood up with paper towels so John and Freddie didn't find out, if they didn't find out, everything would be okay.

The cutting never improved his actual mood, it really only made him feel less useless, he was doing something about it. He was punishing himself, Brian was dead, it was all his fault. He needed to be punished for killing not only Brian but the spirit of his friends and the band.

Roger resorted to cutting himself almost every day. On the third day, he sat in the bathroom, cutting all up his upper leg and arm. This was the most blood he'd ever lost. Roger sat there, enjoying it, deciding that this is what he truly deserved. However, he needed to clean it up before it got on anything that John and Freddie might see. He stood up, reaching for the paper towels, but slipped back, hitting his head on the edge of the bath, falling to the floor.

He'd heard a huge bang from the bathroom, and John set out to investigate. He knocked on the door. Freddie was asleep in his room, so it must've been Roger, "Roger? Are you alright?" He received no response, trying to open the locked door. He shook Freddie awake, told him what happened. They got the key and unlocked the door, and saw a half-naked and bloodied Roger unconscious. John cried, the sight too shocking to his traumatised mind and Freddie took a step forward, too shocked to even do anything.

John watched, feeling helpless and Freddie checked Roger's pulse and tried to wake him. He was unconscious, but not dead. He yelled at John to call emergency, and soon an ambulance arrived, a harsh reminder of the last time they had been in an ambulance.

They stayed in the hospital for two days, Roger waking up hours later wondering where he was. John looked at Freddie, who started off calmly with him, but soon got furious. "And you didn't tell us?!" he could hear Freddie shout. They had an argument about how Roger can't just do that to them.

The ambulance visit and close call for the band was a defining point in their lives. They talked about how it was a number of factors causing Brian's death, how it was all their fault but also nobody's fault. They talked all their feelings out, which is exactly what they needed to let Brian go. They would always love him, always, but now they could live their own lives as well. The night they got home they all played scrabble, a game that they had all loved so dearly but had avoided because it reminded them so much of Brian. John knew Brian was there, before he had felt without a god, now he was sure Brian was watching them, guarding them. He would always be loved. 


End file.
